


I'm Fine

by emeraldorchids



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:17:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4288662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldorchids/pseuds/emeraldorchids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after Paris, Miranda and Andrea run into each other and develop an unexpected friendship. (For the July 2015 fic-a-thon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Fine

“And Emily, remember I have an appointment this morning. I expect to be in no later than 9:45. That’s all.”

Miranda slipped her phone back into her purse as the town car came to a stop in front of her doctor’s office. She was back for the second time in two months, and swore to herself that if this new treatment plan Dr. Kona wanted to try didn’t work, she would find another doctor. Menopause was uncomfortable enough—add to that multiple trips to the doctor’s office, frequent vaginal and uterine exams, and hormone therapy, and Miranda was ready to fire someone.

When she arrived at Suite 1300, she was expecting an empty waiting room. Her appointments were always the first of the morning, and she never had to wait. The nurse assured her that Dr. Kona would be available shortly, and she led Miranda into an exam room to wait in privacy. At least there was that.

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, Miranda. One of my patients went into labor this morning and I had to run across town to deliver—two healthy baby girls. I’m sure you remember those days,” she said.

“Yes, of course. But now those days are over,” Miranda said.

“So the hormone therapy has not been working for you?” Dr. Kona asked.

“Well, it has. I mean, the hot flashes and palpitations are gone, but the headaches are unbearable,” Miranda said. “And I’m still cramping.”

Dr. Kona made a few notes in the computer. “What about your overall mood? Do you find that’s changed? Are you feeling better in general?”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “That whole up and down feeling is gone, but—”

“What is it?”

“Lately, I just, I guess I’ve…I’ve been depressed.” Miranda quickly shook her head and buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry, I know that’s silly.”

“Miranda, do not apologize. I can put together a new treatment plan to help you. It’s a combination of anti-depressants and anti-convulsants that pose fewer side effects than estrogen,” she said.

“Fine.”

“I also want you to talk to someone, at least once. I know you’re alone, and, Miranda, I just worry. Do you have a therapist?”

“Yes, but it’s been years.”

“I will write down a few recommendations for you, as well as my personal number. If you need to talk, call me,” Dr. Kona said.

Again, Miranda rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said, quickly taking the sheet from the doctor’s hands. “And thank you.”

Dr. Kona smiled. “The receptionist will have your prescriptions at the desk as you leave. Take care, Miranda.”

Miranda nodded and left the exam room. When she returned to the waiting room, she was surprised to see nearly every seat taken. There was another woman standing in line at the desk and the receptionist gestured for Miranda to have a seat.

The woman at the desk turned around to find a chair just as Miranda was standing.

“Miranda?”

The editor looked up and was surprised to see the brown eyes she remembered so well. “Andrea,” she exhaled. “What are you—I mean, I suppose that’s none of my business—how are you?”

Andrea beamed. For a split second she was worried that her former boss had forgotten her. “I’m doing well. As you know, I was at _The Mirror_ for a few years right after _Runway_ , and now I’m actually writing for _Slate_.”

“That’s wonderful. I am glad you’re doing well for yourself,” Miranda said.

“Andy Sachs,” a nurse called.

“Oh, that’s me,” she said, heading towards the door.

“Is this your ride?” the nurse asked, pointing at Miranda.

“Oh, no. She’s just—no. I’ll call my friend when I’m finished,” Andrea said quietly.

“Ms. Sachs, I’m sorry, that’s not an option. You must be accompanied by another adult or we will have to cancel your procedure.”

Andrea sighed. “Okay, give me twenty minutes and I can get someone here.” She turned and looked at Miranda. “I’m sorry, I have to make a call—it was nice to run into you.”

“Andrea, I apologize for prying, but what are you here for today?” Miranda asked.

The young woman softly chewed her lower lip as she moved her arm protectively over her midsection. “I’m having a D-and-C.” Miranda’s eyes widened, but Andrea did not say any more.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I hope everything is alright,” Miranda said, gently reaching out and brushing the young woman’s arm.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m sorry, I have to go—I need to call my coworker and see if she can come down here.”

Miranda quickly realized that Andrea mentioned nothing of a boyfriend, which, for a procedure like this, well, if she had a decent boyfriend he would have been here with her. “Excuse me, I am Ms. Sachs’s ride,” Miranda said quickly.

“Miranda, you don’t have to do this,” Andrea said.

“I know. But I am, okay?”

Andrea smiled cautiously and nodded. “Thank you. It shouldn’t take more than 30 minutes.”

Miranda gently squeezed Andrea’s arm. “I have a few calls to make and I don’t want to disturb the others in the waiting room, so I will be waiting in my car.” She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a business card, which she handed to the nurse. “Please call me when she’s ready and I’ll be back upstairs.”

“Will do,” the nurse said. “Come on, Andy.”

Andrea followed the nurse, not before turning around and smiling brightly at Miranda.

Miranda didn’t have any calls to make. She needed time to think. So much had happened in the five years since Andrea Sachs left her in Paris. All this time, she thought it was the messy divorce, or losing her one and only friend that caused her so much emotional pain, but today, she saw otherwise. It was losing Andrea, and Miranda was astonished she hadn’t even considered that before.

 

* * *

Before she knew it, nearly an hour had passed and Miranda wondered if Andrea had changed her mind and called a friend to pick her up. She gave the girl the benefit of the doubt and headed back up to the office to check.

“Excuse me, is Ms. Sachs ready?” Miranda asked the receptionist.

“Just one moment—what is your relation?”

“I—uh—I’m her ride,” Miranda stammered. “I spoke with the nurse before her procedure almost an hour ago—Brittany or Brynne or something—and she was supposed to call me.”

“Oh, Beth. Let me go get her for you.”

Several moments later, the nurse came out and led Miranda to a room in the back. “Ms. Priestly, Andrea is still here. There were some complications—she’s just coming out of surgery now,” she said. “Would you like to come back and see her?”

“Oh, I don’t know if she would—”

“She needs someone there now,” Beth interrupted. “Follow me.”

Miranda nodded and blindly followed the nurse into a sterile-looking area of the building.

“This is our surgical center,” she said, anticipating Miranda’s question. “Andrea is over there in room number 4. She had a local, so she can leave as soon as she’s able to stand.”

“Thank you,” Miranda said. She slowly approached the room and pulled back the curtain. “Hi,” she said.

Andrea brought her hands up to cover her tear-stained cheeks. “You really don’t have to be here. You can leave—I’m sorry I made you wait. You probably missed a lot of important meetings, and now your schedule is off so they’ll have to rearrange—”

“Shh, none of that,” Miranda said softly as she stepped closer and took a seat in the chair next to the hospital cart. Her voice was sweet and warm, very much unlike the Miranda Priestly of _Runway_. “Andrea, are you in any pain—physically?”

The young woman took a deep breath and shook her head. “Just a little cramping, but nothing major. I think we can go.”

“Are you sure? The nurse mentioned something about complications?”

“Yeah, it will heal on its own they said. They gave me some antibiotics. Limited movement for the weekend, you know,” she said nervously. “They do tons of these every day. It’s a common procedure.”

“Andrea, are you scared?” Miranda asked point-blank.

“What? No. No! Of course not. I mean, it’s an outpatient procedure. I’ve done this before,” she said. “If you can step out, I’ll get dressed and we can leave.”

Miranda nodded and stepped away, drawing the curtain closed while Andrea changed out of her gown and back into her clothes.

 

When she was ready, a nurse escorted her downstairs to the waiting car. Aside from a brief conversation on the best way to get to Andrea’s building in mid-morning traffic, the two women did not speak.

 

They arrived at the young woman’s building, and Miranda was relieved to find that it was both clean and secure. Andrea insisted that Miranda didn’t need to follow her upstairs, but she was looking very pale, and Miranda wanted to make sure she was settled.

Her condo was small, but sufficient. It looked as though it was recently renovated, and while Miranda suspected the furniture was from Ikea or somewhere similarly inexpensive, it was well-kept and organized.

“Miranda, thank you, really. You didn’t have to do all this,” Andrea said as she got settled on her couch.

“I am happy to help. Are you feeling okay with everything?” she asked.

“Yes, like I said, just some mild cramping. I’ll probably take a nap now and take another dose of medication in a few hours.”

“And…emotionally?” Miranda asked, softly placing her hand on Andrea’s knee. “I mean, I won’t pretend to know all of the details and everything surrounding your circumstances, but I do know things like this can be difficult.”

Andrea stared at Miranda with a puzzled look. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Miranda knew better than to push her right now, so she stood and grabbed her bag. “You need your rest now, but may I call you later to check in?”

Andrea nodded. “Let me give you one of my cards,” she said as she went to get up from the couch.

“No, stay there,” Miranda said as she motioned for the young woman to lie back down. She produced a paper and pencil from her bag and handed it to her.

“Thank you again, Miranda,” Andrea said. She handed the paper back. “And really, you don’t need to call or check up on me. I will be fine.”

“I will plan to call you tomorrow. Andrea, take care of yourself. It was nice to see you today, even if it was quite unexpected.”

“Likewise. Bye, Miranda.”

The editor gave a little wave before exiting the apartment and locking the door behind her.

 

* * *

On Saturday morning, Miranda woke feeling unusually refreshed, and she had a feeling it was due to her unexpected encounter at her doctor’s office. It had been years since she thought of Andrea Sachs, and while the previous day was a bit overwhelming, she was looking forward to keeping in touch with the young woman.

Miranda began the day by calling her daughters, who were finishing their sophomore year of high school in upstate New York. They would be coming home in three weeks, and she was looking forward to seeing them—to the townhouse being full of life once again.

As she sipped her coffee, perched high on her barstool in the kitchen, she remembered Dr. Kona’s words. The last thing she wanted to do was call her therapist. In fact, she would actually rather find a new therapist instead. She had been here before, and something about admitting that you failed—to the very person who was concerned you couldn’t do it in the first place—just felt worse than whatever she would talk about.

Sighing, she decided to focus her energy on Andrea and ensuring she was recovering well from her procedure. She pulled the paper out of her purse and dialed the number scrawled in familiar handwriting. After seven rings, it went to voicemail. It was almost noon, so Miranda couldn’t imagine the young woman was asleep. She sent a text message: _Hello, Andrea. I hope your recovery is going well and just wanted to check in on you. -MP_

She put her coffee mug in the dishwasher and headed upstairs to the den to get started on next month’s budget for _Runway_. If she played her cards right, Jacqueline Follet would soon be reporting to her, and she would oversee both the American and French magazines, just in time for Serena to move from Fashion Director to Editor-in-Chief. Miranda couldn’t deny that it would be the best move for the business—to pull a struggling publication beneath the wing of a strong, successful one—but she wasn’t sure that Serena wanted to be the one to lead it. The change would mean a lot of work—for everyone. A lot of trips to Paris. A lot of time spent alone.

She sighed again as she realized she really needed to call that therapist.

 

Several hours later, Miranda made her way back into the kitchen, and realized she hadn’t heard back from Andrea. She double-checked her phone, and sure enough, there was no reply. She dialed the number again, and was once again sent to voicemail. Now growing worried, she sent another text message: _Andrea, I am concerned that I cannot get in touch with you. Please let me know that you are okay. I am coming over to your apartment to check right now. -MP_

Without much thought, she grabbed her keys and purse and headed to her garage. Luckily, she was paying attention yesterday when they dropped her off, so she had no difficulty finding the young woman’s building.

It took nearly ten minutes of knocking and calling her name before the door opened.

“What are you doing here?” Andrea asked. She looked like hell.

“Andrea, are you alright? You weren’t answering your phone, and,” Miranda paused and pursed her lips. “I was worried about you.”

The young woman rolled her eyes. “I’m fine? See? Not dead.”

“Do not speak to me in that tone,” Miranda said.

“What, am I supposed to thank you for pounding on my door for ten minutes and forcing me to get out of bed?” Andrea snapped back. “If there’s nothing else—”

“Wait,” Miranda said, reaching out for the doorknob. “May I come in?”

“Whatever,” she said, turning and walking back into the bedroom. She swallowed another pain pill before getting into bed.

Miranda gave her a few minutes to calm down and busied herself about the living room and kitchen, straightening up, loading the dishwasher, folding the blankets on the couch. Seeing several tins of tea on the counter, she quickly turned on the kettle and prepared a cup of tea for the young woman.

“Andrea,” she said, cautiously stepping into the bedroom. “I brought you some tea. Can I make you something small to eat?”

She shook her head and sat up in bed, smoothing the comforter out next to her. Miranda came closer and perched on the edge of the bed.

“I am sorry that I upset you earlier. I was genuinely concerned. I _am_ ,” Miranda corrected herself. “How are you doing?”

“It’s a lot more painful than the last time,” Andrea said. “It’s getting better, though. The pain meds work.” She accepted the cup of tea and took a sip. “Really, you don’t need to be here.”

“I have nothing else to do,” the editor said with a shrug.

“HA!” Andrea laughed. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why is it so difficult to believe that someone like me might have nothing to do?”

Andrea shrugged again and took another sip of tea. “When I worked for you, it seemed like work was never-ending—every day, any time of day. When you weren’t working on the magazine, you were attending lunches and dinners and events, and then there were parties to plan and gifts to buy for the girls, not to mention fitting vacations in. You were a social butterfly—no, a social worker bee,” she said. She chuckled at the comparison.

She finished her cup of tea and set it on the nightstand. “Come on, Miranda, you know that’s what it was like. There was no way you ever had time on a Saturday morning with nothing to do.”

Miranda played with the comforter between her fingers. “That’s what you saw,” she said quietly, “—the career-obsessed woman, working twenty-four-seven, managing her career and, marginally, her family. That wasn’t my life and it has become even more clear in recent years.”

She continued, her eyes still fixed on the fabric between her fingers. “You didn’t see me coming home every night—to a quiet house, an empty bed, a cold meal. There were reasons I worked as much as I did; if I was working, loneliness was part of the job. It was my justification. Even with events and dinners, I had no real connection to any of them. Even with Donatella and Ralph, who everyone seems to think are my friends, it was just the same. They wanted something from me. They always wanted something from me.”

Andrea waited a few moments before speaking. “Miranda, I never wanted anything from you,” she said softly.

“No, that’s not true,” Miranda said quickly, looking up into her eyes. “When I hired you, you wanted to earn my recommendation. You wanted my approval after I made it abundantly clear on your first day that you were not cut out to work in fashion.”

“But I—”

“Is that not true?”

“Yes.”

“There. You see? Everybody wants something from me.”

“But, Miranda,” she added quickly, “You gave me what I wanted, and I stayed even after that.”

“You call that staying?” Miranda closed her eyes and bit her lip, mentally chastising herself for that last comment.

“Wow, didn’t know we were going there,” Andrea said.

“I am sorry, Andrea. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“No, it’s okay. I should be the one apologizing. I knew I had your approval the night of the Met Gala, when I distracted Irv and you actually thanked me. Paris was,” she paused, “honestly, quite overwhelming. When you turned to me in the car and started talking to me like a human being, I just panicked. I know it was terribly immature, and I am very sorry I put you in that position. It was incredibly unprofessional. If it means anything to you, I learned a lot from that experience.”

“Andrea, I have always considered you a human being.”

The two women sat in silence for several minutes. Miranda’s eyes were once again fixed on the comforter in front of her.

“Miranda, can I ask  you something? I know what the obvious answers are, so please don’t snap at me.”

“What?”

“Why are you here?”

Miranda sat up and released her grip on the comforter. “I should go,” she said.

“Damnit, Miranda! You can’t just walk away when you don’t want to answer a question!”

“Do not tell me what I can or cannot do,” she said, standing next to the bed.

“Fine. Then let me answer that for you. I was giving you the opportunity to spin it your way, but whatever,” Andrea said. “You’re here because you are lonely. You are surrounded by people all day, yet you feel alone. You have no one—”

“Stop.”

“—to talk to. No one—”

“Stop!”

“—to listen and understand you.”

“Stop it, Andrea. Stop! …I can’t do this,” she cried. She covered her face with her hands and quickly ran out of the bedroom.

Andrea waited for her door to slam shut, but the silence indicated that the woman was still in her apartment. She carefully got out of bed and followed her. Miranda had her coat and bag, and she was staring at the door.

“Hey,” Andrea said quietly as she approached. It was clear the woman had been crying. She reached out and softly brushed Miranda’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Can I give you a hug?”

Miranda looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, weird question, I know. It’s just—I know you’re picky about those things…people touching you. Okay, never mind,” she said, wrapping her arms tightly around the woman’s shoulders.

At first, Miranda was stiff. It was such a foreign feeling to her to have someone else’s hands on her, let alone to be pressed so tightly to another person. Even her daughters didn’t hug her like this anymore. Quickly, she relaxed into Andrea’s embrace. She felt a degree of safety within the woman’s arms, and soon found herself with her head on her shoulder and her arms wrapped around the woman’s waist.

Andrea pulled back a bit. “Come on, let’s go sit on the couch,” she said, leading her back inside. “Miranda, this is what I felt in Paris, and this is why I left. I liked the way you talked to me like a real person. I felt some sort of strange connection between us, like maybe we could be friends. But as a twenty-four-year-old, the thought of being friends with Miranda Priestly, your boss, was just overwhelming. And now,” she continued, “as a twenty-nine-year-old not working for Miranda Priestly, the thought of being friends seems practical.”

“Practical?”

“Logical?” Andrea offered in clarification.

“Logical.”

“Miranda, you can’t deny that we enjoy each other’s company. Right now, we are just two presumably single women with busy careers and no personal life. Am I correct in that?”

The editor nodded.

“So, in the same way I needed a friend to take me home yesterday, I think you need a friend, too. Just to talk with. To have a glass of wine on a Friday night with so you’re not drinking alone. Someone to give you a hug every once in a while,” she said. “Okay, maybe that last part’s just what I need,” she added with a smile.

“So, we’re friends now, just like that?”

Andrea smiled. Friendship with Miranda was definitely going to be interesting. “Yes,” she replied, reaching for a handshake. “Just like that.”

Miranda shook the woman’s hand and relaxed into the couch. “Friends. I like that.”

 

* * *

“Hey.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I was thinking. Since Caroline’s boyfriend is in town this weekend, do you want to join me and Cass for a girl’s night?”

“Just a second,” Andrea said, covering the mouthpiece and stepping into her office and shutting the door. “Okay, sure, I’d love to. What do we have planned?”

“Nothing yet. Any ideas?”

“No. I just want—you know, never mind. We can talk later,” Miranda said.

“What? Why? No, let’s talk now.”

“Really, I’ll call you later.”

“Miranda, come on. What’s on your mind?”

The woman on the other end sighed deeply. Andrea could picture her spinning around in her chair to face the windows. “Nothing. I just wish my girls weren’t growing up so quickly. You realize Cassidy can drive us around now?”

“Yeah, I know,” Andrea said with a laugh. “That’s actually terrifying.” She paused for a moment. “And it kind of makes me feel…old or something.”

“Oh, please. You are in your prime, sweetheart. Look, I have to go. Start thinking of something for the three of us to do.”

 

* * *

 

“So, I have a date with Matt on Friday.”

“A date? As in, a _date_ date?”

“Yes. Why, is that so difficult to believe?” Andrea said.

“No, no. I was just—I wasn’t expecting you to say that. Where is he taking you?”

“Somewhere in Brooklyn. It’s just casual, you know. I mean, I don’t think I’m ready for anything more serious.”

“Because of Nate?” Miranda asked.

“No. Well, not really,” she said.

“Oh. I—I’m sorry.” She paused for a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Andrea shrugged. “It wasn’t meant to be. I mean, Nate and I, anyway. A baby would have only complicated things.”

“Oh honey,” Miranda said, “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“Let’s just hope Matt is okay with adopting.”

“Come here,” Miranda said, pulling the young woman in for a hug. “Try not to think about that and just have a good time, okay? You can step out and call me at any time.”

 

* * *

“Miranda, wake up,” she said, gently nudging the woman.

“Mmmh,” she groaned, tugging the blanket tighter around her body.

“Seriously. My foot is asleep.”

Miranda pushed herself up, eyes still shut, and she sank back into the couch as soon as Andrea stood up. “Too tired. Staying here,” she murmured.

“I’m beginning to think you had an ulterior motive when you helped me pick out this daybed,” Andrea said.

 

* * *

_“I love you—a bushel and a peck. A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck_ ,” Miranda sang, softly pressing a kiss to the baby’s forehead. “Oh!” she said, startled. “Look who’s back.”

“Hi, baby,” Andrea said, taking the little girl from Miranda’s arms. “Were you a good girl for Auntie Miranda?”

“She was an absolute angel. How was your night? I wasn’t expecting you back so early.”

“Oh, I was just missing my two favorite girls,” she said with a smile.

 

* * *

“Andy, is Charlotte ready?”

“Yes she is,” Andrea said. “Aren’t you, baby?”

“Cassie! Where is your cake?” Charlotte asked.

Cassidy smiled. “She’s so your daughter, Andy. Of course the only thing she cares about on my wedding day is the cake.”

“Well, it is quite a delectable cake. Miss Charlotte, would you like to peek in the kitchen and sneak some frosting?” Miranda said.

“Mom!”

“Oh, hush. Go see if your sister’s ready yet. Charlotte and I will practice walking down the aisle,” she said, leading the little lady from the room.

“Andy,” Cassidy said, “I’m glad you and Mom are friends. She loves Charlotte, and of course, we all love you.”

“I’m glad, too. Your mom really welcomed us into your family, and the past ten years wouldn’t be the same.”

“Can I ask you something? Do you think I’m crazy for getting married?”

“Cassidy Elizabeth Priestly, how can you ask me that? I’m so happy for you and Michael. He’s great, and I think you two will make a wonderful life for yourself,” Andrea said.

“Why didn’t you ever get married?”

Andrea shrugged. “I think it was more complicated. I dated, but no one was enough, you know. I think I learned my high expectations from your mom,” she added with a chuckle.

“Ha, but you and mom are, like perfect for each other. You do realize that, right?”

Andrea looked up and made eye contact with Miranda through the doorway. “Yeah. I do,” she said.

 

Fin 


End file.
